The Case of Willow Farm
by Catherine Spark
Summary: Sherlock Holmes receives a telegram from Lestrade summoning him to a case.  Twists ensue.
1. Chapter 1

_**Mr Sherlock Holmes, 6**__**th**__** July 1894**_

It was an oppressively hot day. I woke at eight and on inspecting our rooms, found them to be deserted. In some surprise I went through to the living room. This was all most peculiar – the curtains were drawn back, yet I was alone in the house. There also appeared to be a telegram sitting on my usual chair. I tore it open and read it.

It was from Lestrade, certainly a singular message, calling me to investigate a case on one Willow Farm, Sussex. The urgency and immediacy of the summons was most exaggerated and took priority over the whereabouts of my roommate and landlady. In five minutes, having scribbled an explanatory note I was seated in a cab, hurrying towards the station. I broke my fast with some milk and biscuits while waiting for the train. Soon I was speeding across the countryside. I arrived at around ten O'clock. A man of around fifty in what appeared to be an overcoat made out of sacking greeted me. "Mr Sherlock Holmes I believe?" he said, shaking me by the hand and ushering me to a comfortable carriage.

It took a good two hours in the carriage to get to the farm. I tried to enquire about the case, but the man simply stated repeatedly that he was only a friend who volunteered my collection, and knew nothing of the farm. I tried engaging him in conversation, any conversation, to draw some clues, but he merely grunted in reply to my questions and observations. Eventually I fell silent and gazed around at the flat, sweeping fields and the distant, hazy peaks of the hills. A warm breeze swept us along and the sun rose dazzlingly and inexorably in the sky. I glanced at my silent companion, and it seemed that he was making efforts to keep from laughing. His eyes gleamed and his mouth twitched.

Eventually the carriage pulled up at a medium sized cottage covered in ivy, with various wooden and stone barns dotted around it. The cobalt-blue sea was visible through a valley nearby, and the lowing of cattle and bleating of sheep could be heard from fields nearby. "Just along the path and in," said the man who had brought me, and I made my way to the door, looking at the cracked mud tracks. There were four types of foot mark: Ridged, small-healed, square-toed and pointy. All four marks converged at the door step, suggesting that all four had walked together up the path and into the house.

I knocked on the door, but there was no reply. I rang the bell. I began to grow impatient and presently I tried the door. It was not locked and I went in. The interior was most fetching. The floor was flagstone, the walls were wooden and the ceiling was coated in plaster and supported by wooden beams. Two oil lamps dangled at each end of the room. A giant cooker stood at one end and several comfortable chairs were arranged around a large stone fireplace. An exquisite smell reached my nostrils. Something glinted in the aforementioned fireplace, and I picked it up for a closer look. "What is this?" I repeated, growing suspicious and amused, for marked on the cigarette end were the words "Bradley, Oxford Street". "Oh no…" I murmered, starting to smile.

"Well Sherlock," said an all-too-familiar voice, "It has finally been done – you must admit that you fell for it this year! Many happy belated returns, and a hearty welcome back!" Mycroft emerged from another room, Watson appeared from out of a large cupboard, Lestrade rose up from behind the settee and Mrs Hudson stepped out from behind the door.

I was forced to accept embraces and hand shakes, and yet as I looked around at my friends I brimmed with two unfamilliar and yet, on this occasion, welcome sensations; affection and gratitude. Mrs Hudson took one of my hands and Watson the other, and we all went through to the dining room where a sumptuous birthday meal was laid out. My eyes lit up and I felt my mouth begin to water as I gazed at the banquet. There were several types of vegetable, pies, wines, sauces and even a plump pheasant. I was seated at the head of the table and after grace everyone drank a toast to me. I felt myself flush up and raised my glass back.

Mrs Hudson cleared away the plates after we had picked the pheasant carcass clean and thoroughly emptied the dishes. We talked among ourselves – of cases old and new, of music and violins, of boxing, fencing, absent friends, of horses, dogs and deduction. Suddenly we all fell silent and Mrs Hudson brought a giant trifle filled with strawberries, cream and jam into the room. She placed it in front of me. "You always say trifles are the most important things, so we thought we should make you one," she explained, amid much laughter and applause.

They began to call for a speech and, reluctantly, I stood up. "Very funny, you managed to successfully trick me this time," I began sardonically. "I must admit that even with my powers I was wholly taken in by the telegram. Since you seem determined to make this occasion momentous and memorable for me I have no objection to entering in to the occasion with all my heart." This drew a cheer from all present. "I have only one question before I share this lovely trifle out," I added, "How in the name of all that's wonderful did you keep all this a secret?"

Watson spoke up. "Give us trifle and I'll tell you,"

"Tell me, and then I'll give you trifle," I retorted, beaming, but he would not. I looked at the others who sat, their lips pressed firmly together, looking at me infuriatingly. "Have it your way then," I cried, serving them all a bowlful. Mycroft's bowl was brimful, while Mrs Hudson had a dainty spoonful.

For a few minutes all were silent as we demolished that beautiful trifle. Then finally Watson swallowed and said "I think we owe our friend an explanation now, don't you, everybody?"

"Here here," said Mycroft, hiccupping and wiping his mouth with the napkin he had tucked into his shirt collar.

"Well," said Watson, pouring Mrs Hudson some more wine. "We all had a hand in organising it. We had to make absolutely sure we covered our tracks. That was all coordinated by Mycroft here. And the way it all unfolded…was like this:


	2. Chapter 2

"One of my ambitions having learned of your methods of deduction all those years back, was to prove to you that such methods were not infallible. I had attempted this by putting you to the test many times, but always you triumphed. Another singular thing I had noticed was that, for whatever reason, you were extremely adverse to acknowledging special occasions.

"It took three years for me just to find out the date of your birthday, and even then I had to find it out for myself by means of deduction. You foolishly bought yourself a new outfit two days after bemoaning a lack of funds. I knew that you had not received any mail that morning, nor the evening on which you had been complaining. It had to have been the day in between. You must have been given money, but why? I searched through the bins and found the envelope with the postal stamp and return address on. Mycroft had sent you a cheque. Now up until then you had never asked for money from anyone, even when the situation was dire. Therefore the money was a gift, and it being just after Christmas, and knowing that Mycroft and you had exchanged gifts at Christmas, I felt almost certain that the occasion had been your birthday. This was confirmed by your passport, which you keep in the same safe as my cheque book.

"No doubt you felt you were more vulnerable when you advertised personal details. Nevertheless a tradition of sorts began to take shape. Year in, year out Mrs Hudson would make you duck for supper and wish you many happy returns. You would acknowledge her with that singular gentle and charming manner you reserve for women. I would present you with a new pipe and you would wring me by the hand. It was gratifying to me that you kept every pipe I gave you and have since smoked them according to your moods.

"Year after year this never changed, and you expressed a wish for it to continue as such. However it was always my ambition to surprise you. The first time I attempted it, your thirtieth, I seem to remember you traced my footsteps and cigarette ash to the cake shop and back, subsequently found the banana cake and ate it within the space of one night, whilst puzzling over the complicated case of the prize heifer in the outhouse. Doubtless you enjoyed the cake enormously but its loss left no alternative but the usual birthday un-ceremony.

"The second time I tried to surprise you was your thirty-third birthday. I involved Mrs Hudson this time. We tried between us to lure you to a small but tasteful restaurant, there to have dinner and see some violinist who was in the area and whose sister you had helped in a case of fraud. Again you figured it out, wired the violinist, enjoyed an excellent afternoon at a concert and malingered for the rest of the evening, making a miraculous recovery to undergo the usual birthday ceremony.

"We gave up for some years after that, and your death put a stop to our games. For those three years, on your birthday, Mrs Hudson and I would meet in the rooms, share a cold supper and reminisce fondly about you. You were sorely missed to an extent that I suspect you cannot, even now, fully understand. Of course, when you returned our first thought was not about your birthday but about aiding you in ensuring your own personal safety.

"This year – your fortieth – a momentous age – unfortunately came and went before your miraculous resurrection from the dead, which is why I thought a party in July would be a fitting substitute; a combined event to wish you many happy returns and to welcome you home. I thought it best to wait until July for many reasons: It would serve as a nice healthy day in the country, it would ensure your enemies had finally been well and truly defeated and you could celebrate without a care in the world, and finally the element of surprise would certainly be there!

"Having been foiled so many times by you in the past I decided to consult someone who not only knows you well but understands, better than anyone, your powers of deduction. I went to Mr Mycroft Holmes. Yes indeed, I went to his home, knocked him up and discussed the situation with him. It was his suggestion that I bring Mrs Hudson along and we discuss it over lunch. You have, my dear fellow, an extremely useful and appreciated habit of letting me know where you are going and the earliest time at which you expect to be back. On the first day that you were away Mrs Hudson and I wired ahead to Mycroft – if you will excuse the informality of me referring to you by your Christian name to avoid confusion – and he received us to talk about the problem in hand.

" "Sherlock has concentrated powers of analysis, observation and deduction it is true," said he, "but they are weaker than mine, for the simple reason that he has basic gaps in his knowledge that he cannot, nay, _will _not, supplement. He was always very stubborn, was Sherlock. What he did not believe to be interesting or relevant to his cause he would never take the trouble to learn about. I, on the other hand, practise omniscience and it has served me extremely well. It is only now that he is beginning to come around to my point of view, having watched me solve several of the cases he failed to explain. However he still has four main areas of weakness and if you wish to surprise him, you must utilise these.

" "Number one: Sherlock understands next to nothing of women. If I am honest I would say that I think he is a little afraid of them. I have never yet seen him get the better of one; he always either shields them, upholds them, is outwitted by them, or exposes them through indirect means. Whilst he can get a good picture of the ways of a household very quickly (and this serves him well for his investigations), he struggles to pin down routine in women. Therefore, Mrs Hudson, you are an invaluable asset in any planned surprise. He will not trouble to track your movements.

" "Numbers two and three combined: Sherlock does not believe you can act against your nature or deceive anyone, Dr Watson. He also understands nothing of sport. In sport at least you have the upper hand, and I can help you to act convincingly wherever and whenever you need. Playing sport is an excellent way of covering your own tracks and as to the acting, I know my brother well enough that I can plan for the things he will do if he becomes suspicious. I will coach you in what to say in every eventuality for each stage of the plan.

" "Finally number four: Sherlock takes it absolutely for granted that my routine never changes. He will never suspect that I have a hand in this. I extremely dislike disrupting my routine – but I must also admit I am nearly as keen as you to see that brother of mine surprised by something as trivial as a party! It tickles me."

By this time we had finished our lunch. Idle chat is not something Mycroft excels in, so after receiving our orders we took a cab back to Baker street, full of inspiration and motivation.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mycroft's first instruction to me was to cover my tracks. Luckily you were away when I got back to Baker Street, so it was no trouble to get my clothes and boots completely cleaned before you returned. As if that weren't luck enough, there was a thunder storm and torrential rain that night, covering any tracks of anyone from the previous day.

"Mrs Hudson, upon Mycroft's instructions, arranged for me to correspond using post cards, to her brother in law. Her brother in law was to pose as my younger brother, Clive H. Watson, an archaeologist who travelled around Britain. This was to ensure that whenever I went to the post office to send a wire, it would be under the pretext of sending a post card to this non-existent brother. Mycroft also paid the extra money for the wires to be sent, in order that I should not be caught spending excess of the cost of one post card every other day. It is as well, my dear fellow, that you struggle to get my limits, otherwise this plan would never have worked. The fact that the correspondent really was a man, whom you had never met, meant that you had no starting point from which to deduce a hoax.

"It was easy to meet with Mycroft. He had instructed me to organise a rugger match with friends after each of our meetings in order to cover tracks. After filling him in on how arrangements were progressing I simply dressed in my rugger clothes, went to the park, played my match and arrived home muddy and dishevelled, with all trace of tracks having been scraped off in the process. Mrs Hudson had to meet with Mycroft separately and after dark in order to avoid the regular site of two familiar people dropping in too often. Mrs Hudson simply changed shoes after each visit – you fail to grasp the significance of fashion my dear Holmes, especially in the woman, and therefore this was a fail-safe way of ensuring you could not trace her.

"Who organised what, I hear you ask? Mrs Hudson, by sending several wires, arranged for the food and the catering, as you will have gathered. Mycroft organised the venue and your transport. I organised how to lure you there. I have not shared rooms with you for years without observing a pattern to the cases that you take and those you do not take! It was I who wired Lestrade, dictated to him the message to send to you, and I who put it in your place at four in the morning before driving here with Mrs Hudson and Mycroft."

Of course, everyone wanted to hear the telegraph, so Watson drew a copy from his pocket.

**"_URGENT – Mr Holmes, your presence is greatly desired on Willow Farm, Sussex today, as soon as possible. A most singular murder, no robbery, no motive, no tracks. CASE TIME SENSITIVE. Lestrade."_**

Everyone laughed and Watson continued:

"I did wonder whether perhaps the site of our shoes and coats all gone, and the fact that the place was deserted, might have alerted your mind, but I felt confident that you would not investigate too closely with so little conclusive data to go on. It was a gamble on my part, but as you see it paid off tremendously."

Watson finished his story, and I smiled at them. "A toast, I think, to the organisers." I raised my glass and they followed suit. "But," I added, "Where did the banquet come from?"

"The pies and vegetables were prepared by Mrs Hudson, Lestrade brought the wine, Mycroft brought the sauces and trifle, and I, upon your departure for another whole day, organised the collection of the pheasant from none other than Sir Henry Baskerville!"

My eyebrows shot up "Really? He's been in on this as well?"

I could see relish plastered all over his face, the devil. I narrowed my eyes at him, and he laughed nonchalantly.

"I thought, since he held us in high regard and had access to good hunting grounds, that I might take the chance. He would have come along as well, only at that time his wife – formerly Mrs Stapleton, yes – was in 'delicate condition', as they say, and the doctor – yes that's doctor Mortimer, advised that neither leave the house. So they sent the pheasant on ahead with a servant, who then transferred it to me. Have no fear: it has been in the larder here only for one night!"

"I have no fear now I assure you," I said, laughing, "It tasted as good and fresh as though it had been caught this morning."

"And now, presents!" said Watson, and I groaned. Of course there was the usual pipe – ebony this time, from Watson; very useful for hiding burns from lighting it. From Lestrade, an umbrella. From Mrs Hudson, a silver angel charm. I was naturally dubious, though at the same time touched by her consideration. She hastily explained, blushing somewhat, that she did worry about me on my cases, and she would sleep easier knowing I carried that charm with me. I thanked her and told her I would try my best to take it with me if it would ease her mind. Mycroft's present was a pocket knife. The handle was made of ivory and it contained, folded away, steel scissors, corkscrew, spanner and knife blade. I thanked everyone once again.

We all went for a walk along the cliffs and then down the winding cliff path to the sea. Mycroft and Mrs Hudson set up camp on the warm sand, Mycroft dozing, Mrs Hudson sewing. Lestrade inspected various barnacles and anemones with his lens. I confess I had no idea he had an interest in sea life. There was a deep, rocky pool connected to the sea by a strip of water. It was deep enough to jump from the edge of the rocks in and Watson, having had foresight to bring our swimming equipment, persuaded me after some time to come for a swim. I had not swum since I was nine years old, and had completely forgotten the cool, silky, lapping sensation against my chest and arms. He was, of course, a much better swimmer than I am. In endurance and muscle he is the stronger, and in agility and ingenuity I am superior.

After a refreshing walk and swim, we made our way back to the farm to make ready to start for home. It was then the telegraph boy arrived with a pre-paid reply telegraph addressed to myself. I knew then that unless another person had been in on the party it had to be from Sir Henry Baskerville, as he was the only person not present who knew I would be on Willow Farm. Everyone crowded round to see what the telegram said, and we all read the short message:

_**"Master William Henry Baskerville, born early hours this morning. Mother and baby doing very well. Request Mr Holmes as Godfather."**_

Of all the strange things that had happened that day, this was the most unexpected of all. For some seconds I was quite unable to think of a suitable response. "Well," I stuttered, after a short pause, "This is most singular." Everyone laughed. "What exactly does a Godfather do?" I asked.

Everybody appeared to have differing opinions of this.

"Facilitates the Christening," said Mrs Hudson.

"Remembers birthdays and Christmases," said Mycroft.

"Keeps an eye on the child's upbringing," said Lestrade.

"Provides a general role model for the child," said Watson. That set me thinking. What kind of a role model am I? My social skills are wanting, and my ability to express genuine emotion is next to nothing. My eating habits are irregular. I stay up to all hours. I have taken tobacco and other more offensive addictive drugs regularly. I do occasionally lie, steal and break the law, albeit in the name of a greater justice.

Then again, would I be proud if a son of mine did the things that I had done, and possessed the qualities that I do? Certainly. Do I have high ideals which I work hard to achieve? Definitely. Do I lie to myself or put myself in a false position? No more than the next man. My mind may sometimes be troubled but my heart and my conscience are clear. And lastly, could I put a little of myself down on paper to help another person? Of course I could! And if I could keep tabs on the Baker Street Irregulars and all the major criminals in Britain _and _the continent, surely I could keep some kind of eye on this little chap!

Everyone waited expectantly for my response. Finally I gave it, slowly and thoughtfully. It is a reply which, Watson has subsequently confessed, both astounded and moved him. "Please send a return wire to Sir Henry: **'_My congratulations. __Would be most honoured. Request further details at your convenience. Sherlock Holmes._' **"

That night, before I went to bed, I sought Watson out. "Watson?" I said,

"Yes Holmes?"

"I owe you many thanks for a terrific celebration, culminating in a most unexpected gift! It was very thoughtfully organised and I am highly impressed."

"Thank you, Holmes."

"I must insist though that it remain the only one of its kind. You thoroughly surprised me, thus achieving your goal, but I honestly prefer an understated celebration with only my closest friends."

I could see he was torn between being disappointed and touched at my statement. "Of course. My curiosities are all satisfied." He then smiled and held out his hand for me to shake. Well…here's to the forty-first year!"

"And may many more adventures come our way!"

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THE END

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